Immer Aufwärts und Nach Vorn
by TheOneWhoFought
Summary: As a dying nation's past merges with a forgotten nation's land, a micronation is born. New Prussia to be exact. As Canada seems to become more invisible, Prussia starts to fade from the others' memories. With New Prussia acting as an anchor for both of them to hold onto reality, they just might be able to get through this together.
1. Snow Angel

Immer Aufwärts und Nach Vorn

Born from the rubble of two nations; one gone and the other forgotten, she rose from the ground like a stalagmite. She formed and structured an economy to call her own, welding the laws together just as she had done with the steel and oak box she knew as home. She had the face of innocence, hair as pure as snow, and eyes, a pool of indigo, that held the remnants of both her fathers' suffering. She continues to reside in her tiny land, but don't look away, she might disappear like a puff of frosty air from the lips of those arrogant enough to forget. Small and frail, she stands, still waving her flag high, giving the impression of a Prussian eagle flying over her home, protecting her from harm. She is known as a micronation, lacking the mass and basic framework of a normal country. Push her and she will fall- there is no resistance, but attempt to kick down her walls and end up with a shattered foot.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breath out.

Hear the dying heartbeats of a nation's past merge with the sound of another's unheard whispers. These miniscule pieces build who she is. These parts fit together like a puzzle- she wouldn't be herself without them. Don't speak, listen. She serenades her people, gracing them with her anthem once on a blue moon. She reminds people of a country long since forgotten, connecting them to their past with a soft melody like chiming bells.

She'd always repeat the same German line, what she liked to call a motto:

"_Immer aufwärts und nach vorn."_

Her voice rang to one of her citizens who was having a particularly bad day. She smiled gently at the woman crouched before her. A fair princess by the name of Joslynn admired the other's ability to stay strong with the weight of a nation on her shoulders.

This little girl is the Kingdom of New Prussia.

Hidden behind quiet farmland near the province of Ontario, Canada, a micronation stands. Built by hand with charred fingertips and rusty nails she survives through the frigid air nipping at any skin left exposed by her thin coat. She manages to bite her tongue and clench her jaw, stopping her teeth from chattering. Yet, despite her attempts to not show any signs of discomfort, a shiver quaked its way through her body starting from the bottom of her spine and creeping its way to her neck, causing all hair to stand. Blue lips curled into a grin as she slipped her hands from her pockets to pull down a hickory brown beanie that was nearly stolen by the howling wind that seemed to call to her. She looked up, spreading her arms as if she had wings. Bell chimes sounded once again, but this time in the form of a giggle coming from a girl who couldn't afford to indulge in childish fantasies. But, tonight, her fairytale was real. She was real. She was alive.

She looked towards the heavens, imagining her flag as an angel or rather a seraph, guiding her to the path of greatness or rather destruction at this point. She spun, becoming a spiral of safety, as if her circle of footprints would protect her from harm, acting as a halo.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

Tears streaked from her eyes, leaving trails of ice on her pale cheeks as she gazed at the midnight sky. The stars twinkled back from behind the grey clouds, playing peek-a-boo with the lonely girl. If only people stayed with her as long as the stars did, because even when the sun shines, the stars will still be there.

A girl, just a young girl, lied in the snow. A light fading, a sky darkening, tears ceasing, eyes closing, and heart stopping.

Exhale.

"_Immer aufwärts und nach vorn."_


	2. Who?

Steaming hot coffee sloshed around in a cup as a young man struggled to balance on one foot while slipping a brown loafer onto the other, yet again having forgot to set his alarm to wake him for the meeting he would be hosting. A bitter gust of wind almost threw him off, but with a final stomp he was walking (with both shoes) and a coat hanging limply over his arm. The man (of what appeared to be only at the age of nineteen) flicked his head to the side, making the gentle waves of hair brush away from his face, in exception of the pesky curl which always seemed to hang in front of his violet eyes.

He turned to wave one last time at the fluffy white polar bear that was staring at him through the curtained window of his modest home. Kumajirou was what the bear was named. The animal tilted its head quizzically, raising a metaphorical eyebrow at the man outside the window, causing a sigh to drift out of said-man's lips. He could almost hear his own pet's voice questioning, "Who are you?"

But that's okay; no one really remembered him anyway.

This man, Matthew Williams, also known as the country of Canada, held an extraordinary resemblance to his brother, Alfred F. Jones, A.K.A. the United States of America. Although being two obviously different people, some still seem to mistake Matthew for Alfred, but never the other way around. And if he wasn't being attacked (verbally and physically), then he was treated as a ghost- transparent, nonexistent. The younger of the two, which just so happened to be Matthew himself, would often wake with nightmares of the world forgetting him all together and everyday that dream seemed to become more of a reality.

And that terrified him.

He unlocked the door to his rusty red pickup truck, slipping onto the worn out leather seat, setting his mug in the cup holder, and tossing his mahogany-colored blazer to the passenger side. He took a deep breath, holding it as he turned the key in the ignition. The old engine sputtered from the cold, coughing and hacking, before roaring to life. With a triumphant smile painted on his face, the Canadian shifted into gear and eased the automobile out of the driveway and onto the road, already knowing the route he was going to take. The G8 meeting hall was about an hour and fifteen minutes away- a fair distance- and if whatever gods out there smiled upon him, he hopefully wouldn't hit traffic.

About thirty minutes in, the road became uneven. Bumps and potholes that hadn't been there the last time he drove this way seemingly appeared out of nowhere, taking up a majority of the road. Frustrated, the poor Canadian behind the wheel glanced down at his watch, seeing that there was a small chance that he wouldn't be _completely _late to the meeting. A grin twisted the corners of his mouth upwards as he reached down to his almost forgotten cup of coffee. He lifted the mug to his lips when-

_Splat!_

He swerved the wheel in his temporary blindness as the coffee burned his face and chest. Using the sleeve of his already ruined white dress shirt, he wiped his eyes that hid behind round glasses just enough to pull over to the side of the road. He silently cursed, placing the mug haphazardly in its previous position of rest and reaching over to the glove box. Pulling the keys from the ignition, he used it to unlock the compartment under the dashboard. Clicking it open, he rummaged through the random objects: a small pistol that Alfred insisted he brought with him wherever he went (even though it wasn't loaded), registration for the gun (which is required in Canada), a box of ammunition (also under America's wishes), a flashlight along with other basic survival tools, and _aha! _a small package of napkins. He greedily grabbed some, opening the car door and stepping out. He was greeted by a smack of icy air, which sent a shiver up his spine. Using the tissues he had gained from the search in the glove compartment, he hastily wiped down the seat and attempted to rid his soiled shirt of the stain that diseased the once crisp white fabric. Seizing a few more napkins, he wiped his face and glasses.

Sighing, Matthew climbed back into the truck, taking the keys from the glove box and starting up the tired vehicle. Luckily, this time the engine didn't hesitate in starting up, but he knew something was wrong when he stepped on the gas and didn't go anywhere. He tried again. Nothing but the screeching of tires was heard.

With an aggravated groan, the young man stepped out to inspect the automobile. He walked around the front, peeking under the hood, only to find no problem. It was only when he stepped a tad too close to the front, left wheel that he realized it was stuck in a hole so deep that only half of the black tire was visible. Canada frowned. He wasn't good with cars like Alfred. He wasn't super strong like his brother either. He didn't have the time to wait for his insurance company to show up and it was definitely too far to run to the summit meeting. He was utterly stuck.

With a defeated sigh, the Canadian slumped to the floor, leaning his back against the cold metal of the car door. He buried his face in his arms, losing all hope of getting to the meeting at all. Little did he know that a pair of eyes happened to watch this whole ordeal, already plotting how to help the poor man. Using expertly engineered knowledge, the eyes assessed the situation, knowing exactly what to do to fix the pickle the man happened to be in. Now all she needed was the courage to confront the stranger and the supplies to repair the sticky situation the man was trapped in.


End file.
